by Amy Patrick
“I’m sorry I’ve been treating you like you’re helpless. I can see that you’re not. You are, however, short on funds. So I’m glad you agreed to let me help you out with a place to stay for a few days.”
Laney’s tone is conciliatory as well. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. I’m probably over-sensitive about my disability—it’s still pretty new, you know?”
“Understandable,” I say, taking a long pull from my bottle.
“I wasn’t wrong about one thing though—you really don’t want to be seen in public with me. Is it because of Ava?”
The beer in my mouth goes down the wrong pipe, and I choke, coughing to clear my airway. “What?” I cough again. “Why would you ask that?”
“Estelle mentioned you were engaged before—to a girl named Ava. Actually she said ‘betrothed.’ I’m guessing she hasn’t been in the country long, though I have to say her English is a whole lot better than my French.” She smiles. “Do you not want word to get back to Ava—that you’re out with another girl? Are you hoping for a reconciliation or something?”
Frowning at the tide rolling onto the nearby shore, I answer honestly. “No. There is no chance of that. She’s with another guy. They’re deliriously happy I guess.”
“I’m sorry. You must have loved her very much.”
No, actually. I don’t believe in love. “I don’t really want to discuss it. What about you? Anyone special waiting back on the ranch?”
She laughs. “I don’t live on a ranch—nice try.” Her tone turns wistful. “No, there’s no one. There was once. Brandon. My first love. We dated for most of high school. But he broke up with me when it became apparent I’d be permanently disabled. He just wasn’t up for that kind of responsibility. I don’t blame him. What high school guy would sign up for that? Even most older guys would take a pass.”
She pauses. “So, you must be older than I first thought. Your voice and the feel of your skin made me think you were around my age. But you were engaged already, so...”
“I’m nineteen.” I answer her unspoken question but there’s no way I can explain to her that I’m actually a year older than the majority of my people when we typically select a bond-mate.
Bonding age in the Elven world is eighteen. That’s when the powerful drive to bond kicks in, and it becomes almost physically painful to deny it. Of course we can’t bond with just anyone to satisfy the need. We only get one shot at it—one partner for a lifetime. For us that means eternity.
Needless to say I walk around daily with a considerable amount of discomfort. A stiff breeze and I’m pretty much ready to go. I’ve even started turning down bookings for swimsuit and underwear ads lately. The ad agency would be getting a lot more than they bargained for in those photographs.
“What about you?” I ask.
“I’m eighteen. Old enough to vote and run away to California. Not old enough to buy beer. You’ve obviously found a way around that. You’ve got a fake I.D.?”
“Something like that.” I chuckle. “I look older than I am.” Plus I’m rich and famous and have the ability to sway anyone I choose—except for you. “I think I hear the doorbell. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go get our food. We can eat out here if you’d like. There’s a table.”
She pops out of her chair. “Oh no you don’t. I’m paying for this.”
“Right. I know. Well come on then, moneybags. Buy me some dinner.”
The delivery man performs flawlessly, sticking to our agreed upon script. “That’ll be forty dollars.”
Laney hands me her purse. “Take out fifty please and give it to him.”
“You’re the boss.” Handing two twenties and a ten to the man, I say with a wink, “Here you go mate. Don’t spend that tip in one place.”
With the actual price of the meal and the delivery cost, fifty dollars isn’t an outrageous tip—it’s about right. The restaurant agreed to put the cost of the meal itself on my card, which of course Laney doesn’t know.
I feel bad allowing her to spend even fifty dollars of her precious little cash on this meal, but I’m also starting to feel bad about the way I’ve been taking advantage of her blindness to deceive her about things like money, even if it was done in the name of protecting her.
We eat our supper on the deck. It’s a beautiful night, and the food’s amazing. But I’m finding it hard to concentrate on anything other than Laney’s face. She makes this blissed out expression when she tastes something good, and her whole face lights up as she talks, telling me about her bus trip to Los Angeles and the people she met at the clinic. Things get a bit less entertaining when she starts quizzing me about my life.
“Tell me about your family.”
I clear my throat, experiencing a sudden flood of awkwardness. I don’t usually feel awkward. Then again, I don’t usually talk about myself.
“Well, I’ve already told you my parents are separated. My father has lived here all my life. I grew up in Australia with my mum. At least until I was thirteen and I went off to boarding school.”
“What’s your mom like?”
“Um... I don’t know. Busy. She has a pretty important job, and it takes a lot of her time. She travels a lot.”
Laney’s smile decreases by about seventy-five percent. “Oh. What does she do?”
Well, you see, she’s the ruler of the Dark Elves in Australia. “She... runs a company.”
“Wow. Your parents are pretty impressive. My dad’s a pharmacist, and my mother is a stay-at-home mom.”
“That sounds nice, actually.”
It sounds more than nice. I can’t even count the number of times I wished my mom was actually at home—when I had a problem at school, or had a question I was too embarrassed to ask anyone else, when I just needed to talk.
On the upside, I became very good at solving my own problems. Maybe a downside was that I learned to just not talk—about anything of importance anyway. But really, who wants to hear all my crap? At least I never got into the bad habit of counting on anyone else. When you rely on yourself, no one can ever disappoint you.
“You don’t have any siblings?” she asks.
“No. Just me.”
“Sounds lonely.”
I don’t like the note of sympathy in her voice. I don’t need it and definitely don’t want it. And I don’t want to talk anymore. It’s too early to go to bed. What the hell am I going to do with her all evening that doesn’t involve talking? In answer to my own question, a racy image flashes through my brain, and I quickly tamp it back down.
“Want to watch a movie?” I suggest, then immediately backtrack. “Oh God. I’m sorry.”
“Why? I love movies. Do you have some or should we stream something?”
Relaxing again after what I thought was a fatal faux pas, I say, “Whatever you want. If you have any favorites, we could download one of those, or we can search for something neither of us has seen.”
“Have you ever watched the Lord of the Rings movies? Those are my all-time favorites.”
I laugh inwardly. She would want to watch a film about Elves. “No. I’ve never seen them. It’s early yet—we could have a movie marathon and maybe see all three.” And not have to talk anymore at all.
“Well, I don’t think three is possible in one night. They’re pretty long. But we could watch them all this week. The Hobbit, too. I don’t love that one as much, but it’s still good.”
I locate the first movie, and we settle in, each of us at opposite ends of my leather sofa. Laney curls her legs under her and hugs a throw pillow, bouncing a little as the opening strains of the movie’s score begin.
She smiles widely. “I’m so thankful these came out before I lost most of my sight. I watched them so many times I can still see the scenes now in my mind. Trust me, you will love this.”
She’s right—the film is well done and quite enjoyable. I’ve avoided watching them or even reading the book series because I anticipated rolling my eyes at the inaccuracies of the scenes involvi
ng Elves. But when the Hobbits arrive at Rivendell, my breath is taken away at the similarities between the Elves there and the Light Elves who live in Altum.
Of course real Elves don’t have pointed ears, but the tranquil elegance of them, the ancient way of life that still exists there in the underground kingdom is very similar to the movie director’s portrayal. If the movie is true to the books, then Mr. Tolkien was a very clever fellow. Makes me wonder if perhaps he actually even met one of our kind at some point in his life.
Though the film is good, I’m fighting the same compulsion I did during dinner. My gaze is constantly drawn away from the screen to Laney. She’s so into the movie, reacting to the dialogue and music, and perhaps the images painted by her mind. Her expressions are fascinating, and entertaining, and... adorable. She’s a beautiful girl.
Cupcake is curled in her lap, purring as she strokes his fur. Lucky bastard. I’d be purring, too if those pretty fingers were petting me in that gentle, rhythmic way.
By the time the fellowship of friends reaches Lothlorien, I realize I’ve unconsciously moved closer to Laney on the sofa. Her bare toes are nearly touching my leg, and I feel the most powerful urge to reach down and touch them, to wrap my fingers around her dainty ankle. And then I picture sliding that hand up her calf, past her knee...
“Did you like it?” Her voice shocks me out of my dangerous thoughts, and I realize the movie has ended.
“Oh. Yes. It was very good—better than I expected.”
“I told you.” She beams. “There are some movies, like love stories, that I don’t want to watch again and again, but I can never see these enough.”
“You don’t like love stories? I thought most girls were into chick flicks.”
“Oh—well, I do like them, but you know... they kind of just make me sad now.”
“I see,” I say, though I actually don’t. “Because of your ex-boyfriend? Brandon?”
She wrinkles her nose at the sound of his name. “No. Not exactly.”
There’s a long exhale as she seems to consider what to say—or how much. “After I lost most of my sight, I went through this long period of time where I sort of withdrew from the world. All I did was watch those movies. And cry. And mourn the loss of my love life.”
She lets out a small laugh that sounds more sad than happy. “I was living vicariously through movies and books. But now... I feel like I’ve turned a corner or something. I don’t want to just live through fictional characters—I want a real life—of my own. I want to live life fully, you know? To go places and meet people and experience things, to taste all life has to offer. I was sixteen when I was declared legally blind. It was like my life was arrested in childhood. But now I’m an adult. I want to live like an adult, have all the experiences adults have.”
“I understand.”
I sound so wise, so caring. But actually I’m a total heel because as soon as she mentioned “adult experiences” my mind went there—you know, there. I shift uncomfortably, rearranging my pants to accommodate the natural end result of those thoughts.
Laney continues. “That’s why I had to leave home. If I hadn’t left to come here and help at the clinic, it would have been somewhere else. There are so many things I’ve never gotten to do. I mean, I’ve never even driven a car. I’ve never rollerbladed, never been to a karaoke bar.”
I laugh out loud. “You’re not missing anything there, sweet.”
“You’ve done Karaoke?”
“Me? God no. I can’t carry a tune in a backhoe.”
“I don’t believe that. You’ve got a great voice—I love listening to it. I’d like to sing a duet with you.”
Hearing her say that about me causes my heart to flip, and I’m filled with a warm, buzzing sensation, as if I’ve swallowed a whole hive of happy little honeybees.
“Don’t hold your breath for that one. As for roller blading—I’ve never done that, either. Sliding around out of control and busting my tailbone is not my idea of a good time.”
“Well, maybe not, but the point is, I want to try it all for myself—to challenge myself and do things I’ve never done—that no one thinks I’m ready for. I’ve never tasted champagne. I’ve never been skinny-dipping. I’m still a virgin, for goodness sake—I’m probably the only one in L.A.”
“Not quite the only one,” I assure her. I stop short of admitting that I’m a virgin myself, though goodness has nothing to do with the reason why. She’d probably never believe it anyway.
Laney doesn’t seem to hear me, going on with her impassioned story. “When Brandon came over to give me the ‘Dear Laney’ speech, we went to my room to talk. He was stammering and clearing his throat as he started making his case, and I could sense what was coming. I... well, I felt desperate. I’d lost so much already that the thought of losing him too was overwhelming. I begged him not to break up with me.”
She rolls her eyes. “Because that always works so well. Nothing more attractive than a weeping, desperate girl.” Her sarcastic amusement dissipates as she goes on in a more subdued tone. “I offered him the opportunity to, you know—go all the way. We’d been kind of working up to it for a while.”
Mesmerized, I watch the pulse beating in the side of Laney’s smooth neck, the blush that pinkens her cheeks over the intimate subject matter, the way her fingers smooth over the surface of her nails again and again.
“He turned me down,” she says. “He said he couldn’t ‘do it with a blind girl.’ And then he left.”
She stops there, and the room is silent except for our breathing. I realize I’ve drawn even nearer to her. Our faces are close now, mine hovering just over hers.
My voice is low and scratchy when I reply. “Well, he’s obviously a total twit. Any rational guy would count himself damn lucky to get a chance to be with you.”
Her response to my words is unexpected. She surges upward, bringing her mouth into contact with mine.
At first I’m in shock. The feel of her soft, warm lips, the sweetly seductive movements of her tongue, the heady peachy-vanilla scent surrounding me—all of it is setting off small explosions throughout my body and over the surface of my skin. Then my mind goes blank, and the stroke of my tongue matches hers. My body is getting with the program, eager for more contact with her soft skin, with the little hand that is moving from my shoulder to my side to my abdomen, leaving a trail of fire.
I hadn’t planned on kissing Laney—not now—not ever. But now that it’s happening, it’s the most exciting, most erotic thing that’s ever happened to me. I feel like there’s a wild animal inside of me lunging against the restraint of a collar and chains, roaring in demand to be set free.
As my arms wrap around her and pull her onto my lap, the beast roars in a new way—a sound of satisfaction blended with even more demand. Laney is making the sweetest, sexiest little noises I’ve ever heard in my life, squirming in my lap and kissing me with near desperation.
Without my permission, my hand moves to the front of her dress, making quick work of the top two buttons and greedily slipping inside—and then I stop.
What the hell do I think I’m doing?
Where do I think this is going to lead? I know where—right down the hallway to that oversized bed of mine. And I can’t take her there. I can’t take anyone there—not unless I want to be bonded to them for eternity—and that means Laney shouldn’t be anywhere near my bedroom. Or near me.
Withdrawing the hand as if burned, I slide Laney from my lap and get off the couch, standing beside it and breathing in long, winded pulls. She looks like a kid who’s just fallen from the merry go round—dizzy and dazed—and not too happy.
“What happened?” She blinks in confusion and turns her head side to side, perhaps listening to see whether someone else has entered the room.
Her unbuttoned dress gapes at the top to reveal a satiny pink bra. I close my eyes and spin away, my body throbbing in frustrated fury at me.
“Button your dress,” I bark at her, m
y voice coming out much harsher than I intended. Everything in me is amped up at the moment, and my vocal chords are only the least of it.
Glancing back over my shoulder, I watch Laney doing the buttons, her kiss-swollen lips forming a pout. Her hair is mussed and beautiful, and the bottom of her dress is disarranged and pushed up to the tops of her thighs.
Oh God. I have to turn away again. I need to get out of here, or I’m going to be back on that couch, running my greedy hands over that beautiful body. Or worse—scooping her up and carrying her down the hallway to my room. The mental image is so compelling, I literally cringe with the pain of not acting on it.
“I have to go,” I growl. “It’s late. You should go to bed—don’t wait up for me.”
Several long strides take me to the back door. I fling myself outside and literally leap off the deck instead of taking the stairs. Breaking into a run, I head down the beach and away from the savage temptation that even now calls to me and tells me to return to her and finish what I started.
Chapter Nine
Look Inside
The brisk Pacific breeze is at least moderately effective at cooling me off, and the impromptu run down the shoreline has taken the edge off the unspent energy charging through my body. Now all I need is an ice cold shower, and I might—might manage to fall asleep tonight.
When I get back to the condo, I see a light still on. Damn it. Of course, it’s possible she followed my order to go to bed and left the light on for me, but not wanting to take the chance, I don’t go inside. Instead, I keep walking toward Brenna’s deck. There’s a candle burning on the outdoor table, and faint music comes from inside.
“Hey there, neighbor. Getting some air?”
I smile at the sound of Brenna’s voice and the dark silhouette of her form sitting in one of the deck chairs. “Yes, you could say that.”
“You’re welcome to join me. I’m taking a break for a minute from all the craziness inside. Remind me never to have forty-five hundred houseguests again, okay? Of course, you’re welcome to join them if you’d rather. There’s a pretty entertaining game of charades going on in there.”